


stealing home

by allsovacant



Series: hurt & pining [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Not Beta Read, One-Shot, Post-Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall, Post-Reichenbach, for Kat’s birthday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:14:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27988287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allsovacant/pseuds/allsovacant
Summary: Stealing Home is a backstory for one of the chapter fics on my Advent Calendar entry ’the second advent’, with the title ’Stolen Favorites’.This one-shot tells the tale of how Sherlock had come in possession of John’s oatmeal-colored jumper, while he’s on the secret mission to dismantle Moriarty’s network, to remind him of home.Do not copy to another site.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson
Series: hurt & pining [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2030317
Comments: 6
Kudos: 13





	stealing home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SherlockWatson_Holmes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockWatson_Holmes/gifts).



> If you’re reading my entry for SherlockWatson_Holmes’s 2020 Advent prompt, you’ve read my entry for the 8th prompt ’Jumpers’ (’[stolen favorites](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27802246/chapters/68474822)’). 
> 
> Above all, this is my gift for Kat’s birthday. Many Happy Returns, BestKat! 💓

_John’s Room  
(Midnight, 29 January 2012, 221B)_

Sherlock tiptoed upstairs as quietly as he could. His heartbeat was loud against his chest. He wasn’t supposed to be there. He was supposed to be inside a private plane on his way to Munich. His first stop according to the last report from the SIS. 

Moriarty’s men were on the move. Their leader’s suicide triggered an uprising amongst them. Spooks reported that the network has been in limbo with the loss of their leader, and every eligible one has been showing interest in replacing Moriarty’s position. 

But first thing’s first, he had to get something. Something that will remind him that he had to survive the secret mission the Crown entrusted to him. 

When Sherlock stopped in front of the wooden door, he could feel his heart rate double. He held the doorknob, twisted it, and quietly as he could, he pushed it open. John should’ve been here sleeping if it’s an ordinary night. When John had arrived from work, or with Sherlock from one of those long night cases. 

But instead, the bed was neatly made. Like no one has been sleeping in it for days. Sherlock felt a pang of longing in his chest. He shook his head and then walked slowly toward the chest drawers. He crouched on the floor to pull the second to the last drawer. 

There he found John’s favorite jumpers in different colors. There’s the navy Christmas jumper from Harry, the dark brown from Mycroft, the beige Mrs. Hudson has knitted, and of course, the one Sherlock bought to replace the one he doused in acid, that’s what he told John. A carbon copy of the Irish Aran crew neck jumper, oatmeal in color. He remembered when he gave it to John as a present for his thirty-eighth birthday. And if Sherlock could’ve bottled t  
John’s expression that day, he would. But now, he could only conjure it from his Mind Palace.

Sherlock closed the drawer as he pulled open the secret compartment hidden behind the wall of John’s mirror. He was relieved to find the worn fabric still in place. 

It was John’s favorite oatmeal jumper.  
The one he didn’t douse in acid, but he stole it from John’s laundry so he wouldn’t miss John when the man went away to attend doctor’s conferences. And really, he wasn’t even surprised that John hadn’t noticed it missing but only when Mrs. Hudson brought up her knitted gift that almost has the same pattern as John’s. 

Sherlock held the fabric close to his chest and inhaled John’s scent. It wasn’t strong as it had been the first time he held it. It doesn’t matter. It still smelled like John. Warm like summer, petrichor in spring, musky in fall, and cozy in winter. Most importantly, it smelled like home. 

Sherlock’s eyes burned with unshed tears. It’s not the time, nor there’ll ever be, to put his emotions first. He had to wear his mask as Sherlock Holmes—the machine, as John once said. 

Sherlock pulled the soft tote bag hidden inside his coat pocket and carefully slid the fabric inside. He closed the secret compartment, making sure it’ll look as it did before. Then he went back the way he entered. Locking away the past with the turn of his key.

He stood alone outside 221B as he watched the mellow light reflected by the window. It came from his lamp that Mrs. Hudson had kept on since he ’died’. When the snow started to fall and his breath puffed like smoke, Sherlock pulled his beanie from his pocket, put it over his curls, then turned his coat collar up and closer to his face, and went on his way. 

Baker Street lay dead asleep as Sherlock walked away from the life he once lived. But if he’s lucky he could come back.  
If he’s brave enough to face his best friend who’s now on his way back to the flat, unaware of what he would’ve found, if he hadn’t stopped by an empty grave, to recount the events that changed theirs, both his and Sherlock’s lives, exactly two years ago.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!!


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